


Most of All

by a_windsor



Series: Exile [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 13:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10854903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_windsor/pseuds/a_windsor
Summary: Damian's first ever trip to Starling City.





	Most of All

“Hey, Captain, can I-“

“Nope.”

“But Cap-“

“Nope. My grandson lives half a world away, he’s never been here before, and if I am late to meet his plane, none of you are gonna want to be around me for the next few weeks. So, nope. I don’t care. City’s burning down? Whatever. Call the Fire Department. Call the Arrow. I’m off the clock, and it is _not_ my problem.”

Quentin is out the door before the insistent officer can utter another word. He _maybe_ puts on the lights on the way to the private airport outside town. He _maybe definitely_ speeds. But he makes it there as the plane is still taxiing on the runway, and he grins widely at his success. He tosses his hat into the backseat of his unmarked and grabs the teddy bear he’s brought along, adjusting its Rockets’ jersey.

He’s seen Damian a total of three times in his short life, each for a week at a time. Each of those times was… well, he’s not sure where. But somewhere island-y and beautiful and really far away. So now that the eighteen-month-old is finally allowed to come to Starling, he doesn't wanna miss a second.

Oh, and he really wants to see Sara, too, of course. And Nyssa. He thinks he might even be starting to like Nyssa.

But mostly he’s here for Damian.

A town car is already waiting, and he jogs over to stand next to it. There’s a “driver” that Quentin is sure is actually a League assassin, and actually looks kinda familiar….

Before he can finish that thought, though, the door to the plane is lowering, and four tiny paws hit the top step first. Sara, his laughing, vibrant Sara, is pulled after by the overly excited Rocket, leather jacket and baseball cap, a bag slung over her shoulder and leash in hand. As soon as her paws hit bottom of the stairs, Rocket squats right there on the tarmac for a good minute.

Must’ve been a long flight.

Sara rolls her eyes and looks back towards the top of the stairs, where Nyssa appears, little Damian on her hip, a hand on his back protectively. Sara’s got that smile Quentin’s learned is just for those two, and it warms his heart.

“Jeez, Dad. That bear’s bigger than he is.”

Quentin starts, a little embarrassed that his daughter caught him staring at her and her beautiful family. Rocket starts barking, her excited, exuberant bark, and it’s all chaos as Sara is in his arms and Rocket runs around their feet, tangling the leash. He greets Nyssa with a kiss on the cheek that she easily accepts, a sign of how far their relationship has come.

“Hey, what do you think, D?” Quentin asks his grandson, holding up the bear and making it do a dance. Nyssa gives the bear a skeptical look, and Rocket, now in Sara’s arms, starts to growl at it.

Damian, however, holds out his hands and grabs towards it, saying something that Quentin can’t understand, though whether that’s because it’s babble or Arabic or both, Quentin is embarrassed to admit he doesn’t know. Whatever it is is a good sign, though, ‘cause the boy is grinning.

“D, can you say ‘thank you, Grandpa’?”

“T’ank ‘ou,” Damian manages. “Hi.”

“Hi!” Quentin grins widely, amazed at every word that comes out of his mouth and every way he’s grown in the last few months, less baby, more toddler.

Nyssa says something to Damian, probably in Arabic, and offers the infant to him. Soon he has his arms full, Damian in one arm, the stuffed animal in the other, probably grinning like an idiot, watching as Damian goes between grabbing the bear’s face and Quentin’s own.

“So, how was your flight?” he asks politely, though he doesn’t take his eyes off of Damian.

“I feel like you and I could turn around and get back on the plane right now and he wouldn’t even be sad!” Sara complains.

“Damian or your father?” Nyssa asks.

“Both,” Sara laughs.

 

***

 

Laurel and Sin have moved into the “Bird’s Nest” full time by now, and yet their room, the penthouse’s master bedroom, is virtually untouched, awaiting their return. This time, however, there is a pack-n-play set up in the corner, complete with a particular stuffed shark, awaiting Damian’s arrival.

It is nice, of course, to have something _home_ to come to here in Starling, but it reminds Sara of how much her family still holds out some fruitless hope that she’ll return here for good some day. Which only makes her feel guilty, not just because she can’t give them that, but because _she doesn’t want to_.

“What do you think, D?” Sara asks the little one on her hip.

“I think that at the first opportunity, he will take a leap off the top of those stairs,” Nyssa says, coming in behind them with their suitcases.

“Nuh-huh!” Sin joins them. “I’ve got the solution for that.” She holds up a baby gate. “I got off work late or I’d’ve already put it up… You do think this will stop a baby ninja, right?”

“Sin-“ Nyssa starts.

“I know, I know,” Sin grins widely. “You’re not ninjas… But you make such a great face when I say it. I’ll set it up. Just keep hands on the little man until I do.”

Damian has a handful of Sara’s shirt and just looks around the place, wide-eyed but generally content. He’s a pretty easy-going baby.

“Is this the infamous shark I have heard so much about?”

Sara turns to see Nyssa holding Sharky and even making him wave. Sara melts, then puts on an affronted air.

“Yes! And be gentle with him!”

Nyssa smiles. “Why has it taken so long for me to make Sharky’s acquaintance?”

“I fished him out for the guest of honor,” Laurel says as she joins them, Rocket under one arm.

“Fished. Cute,” Sara chuckles.

“And you, puppy niece, will keep your teeth to yourself,” Laurel admonishes the dog sweetly before returning her attention to the humans in the room. “Sin’s almost got the gate up. Rocket already hates it.”

“She does not like to be contained,” Nyssa says, seemingly seriously, a glimmer in her eye. “Much like Sara.”

Yep. There it is.

Sara rolls her eyes.

“We figured you guys would be exhausted tonight. Okay if we order in?”

Sara grins, and Nyssa starts to groan before she even says it:

“Only if it’s Big Belly Burger.”

 

***

 

“Every time I come back here, you’ve got another kid,” Sara teases.

“At least this one isn’t named after you.”

“A shame. Michael’s a great name and all, but you missed a damn fine opportunity to call him _Lance_.”

Dig laughs loud enough to startle eight-month-old Michael on his shoulder.

“Well, why didn’t you name Damian that?”

“You should see his passport,” Sara grins. She doesn’t get into the specifics, doesn’t explain that Damian isn’t hers to name.

“Well, welcome to the club.”

“Thanks.” Sara clinks his offered beer bottle with his own.

“It’s crazy.”

“Yup.”

“It’s amazing.”

“Also yup.”

Sara looks over her shoulder, to where Nyssa and Lyla talk quietly in the kitchen, three-and-a-half-year-old Baby Sara coloring happily beside them, eighteen-month-old Damian perched in Lyla’s lap, twisting up to examine the stranger holding him.

“We remain lucky bastards, John,” she smiles at him.

“We do. Though I think the word you used last time was eye candy.”

“You like that one better?”

“I do,” Dig smiles that beautiful smile of his.

“Fair enough.”

 

***

Sin is at class, their dad is working, and so Laurel shooed Nyssa and Sara out of the Bird’s Nest for a little quality alone time. She isn’t technically alone with Damian; there are dozens of League assassins sprinkled throughout the building. But still, she’s in charge.

And she is certainly not going to complain about one-on-one time with her favorite boy in the whole world.

He was supposed to nap for another half-hour, but he wakes up, calling for _Khala_ and _Hab’ti_ (and oh, does Laurel gives Sara so much shit for the pet name Damian uses for her). Laurel rushes into the bedroom, Rocket on her heels, and she grins at the sight waiting for her. He has pulled himself upright in the pack-n-play. His hair is asunder, his eyes bleary, Sharky hanging by his tail from his hand.

“Hey buddy!”

He hesitates, knowing she is not _Khala_ or _Hab’ti_ , but then she gives him her widest smile, and he lifts his arms towards her.

She scoops him up and gives him a big squeeze.

Laurel _adores_ Damian. She’s surprised even herself with how much she loves being his aunt. She Skypes him weekly, watched him learn to smile, learn to laugh, learn to talk (kinda), learn to walk (again, still kinda). Watched her little sister become a _parent_ , one week at a time (intentionally or otherwise). Both of these evolutions are miracles in their own right.

Pictures of Damian cover Laurel’s desk; her assistant is insistent that she bring him in to the office while he is here since she talks about him embarrassingly often.

Now, he lays his sleepy head on her shoulder and yawns. Rocket, seeing her boy is safe, hops onto Nyssa and Sara’s neatly made bed.

“Sleep good, little man?”

Damian doesn’t respond. He reaches for his mustached pacifier (a gift from Aunt Felicity) and plucks it from his mouth, dropping it back in his pack’n’play.

Laurel hurries through his post-nap diaper change (having heard the horror stories of his, uh, range), and they make it downstairs in time to catch her phone ringing. She smiles warmly at the caller id.

“Hey.”

“Hello, hello. I’m not interrupting time with the competition, am I?”

Laurel rolls her eyes. “There is no competition.”

“I know,” Cisco pouts. “He wins every time.”

Laurel laughs. “You each have your strengths. He just woke up from his nap, actually, and I’m babysitting solo.”

Damian on her hip, phone cradled on her shoulder, Laurel heads for the balcony. Rocket hears the glass door slide open and comes running.

“Oh man, I’m sorry. I can call back later.”

“No, it’s okay! I was just about to call you anyway. We’re all going to Central City this weekend. Will you be around?”

“Will I be around?” Cisco pshes. “I’ll be wherever you want me. Uh, quick question. When you say _everyone_ …”

“Yes, even Nyssa.”

“Cool. Cool.”

“You don’t have to be scared.”

“Of course not,” Cisco says unconvincingly. “So what is the proper etiquette for addressing the Heir to the Demon? Ma’am? My Lady? Your Excellency?”

“She’s just a person.”

“Uh huh. I’m excited to meet the other man in your life, though. Text me when you have plans.”

“I will. Promise.”

Laurel sets Damian on the grass, and he toddles forward, reaching for her hand. Laurel’s heart thrills. She _also_ can’t wait for Damian and Cisco to meet.

“I’m gonna let you go,” Cisco says. “‘Cause like I said: no competition.”

“Hey, I get to see you a lot more often than him.”

“True. Not often enough, though. Hey, how does D feel about cars?”

“I have no clue. I’ll find out.”

“Cool. See you Saturday?”

“Definitely. I’ll call when I know more.”

They say their goodbyes.

Laurel’s relationship with Cisco is unlike any other she has had, and every day she is more and more convinced that is a good thing. A great thing.

The only problem is that they have separate teams counting on them, in separate cities to protect, and with every passing month, that becomes more and more frustrating,

Damian stumbles, and Laurel isn’t quick enough to catch him. He lands on his butt, and she briefly panics. Then he lets out the best little belly laugh. Laurel joins him, hoping his fuzzy sleeper is keeping the slight chill at bay as well as her law school hoodie is. It’s a mild early spring day, but he does live most of his life in paradise. Either way, she’ll only keep him out here for a couple minutes, so he can stretch his legs and get a little fresh air.

Rocket notices he’s fallen and bounds over, licking his face while he continues to giggle.

“Are you doing that because you love him, or because you can taste some leftover PB&J?” Laurel asks the little dog. Honestly, she assumes the answer is a little of both.

The breeze picks up, and Laurel decides to scoop up both of her charges in one fell swoop, finding herself the latest recipient of Rocket’s excessive puppy kisses as Damian squirms.

“Alright, you two. Let’s go get into some trouble.”

 

***

 

Despite his awkwardness and stumbling, Nyssa must take a shine to Cisco, because she lets him hold Damian. Probably the fact he brought Damian a pretty awesome Corvette HotWheels.

Cisco must not know what an honor this is, because if he did, he’d probably drop the baby.

“So, is he like, heir to the Heir to the Demon or something?” Cisco asks, bouncing Damian on his hip.

“Or something,” Nyssa answers.

“Cool,” Cisco nods. “Super secret assassin prince. _Diablito_.”

Corvette in hand, Damian giggles at the low, silly voice Cisco adds to his last word, and that seals the deal for Nyssa. Sara can see it from here.

Seals it for Laurel, too.

After having heard _so much_ about Cisco, Sara was so psyched to meet him. (And tease Laurel mercilessly.) It’s the whole point of this Central City trip. (Her mom, too. Of course. But mostly Cisco.)

And the trip has totally been worth it, between Cisco’s fumbling nervousness around Nyssa (which Sara totally gets) to Laurel basically _melting_ at the way Cisco makes Damian laugh.

“Keep it in your pants, Lance,” Sara murmurs in Laurel’s ear, bumping her shoulder with her own.

Laurel honest-to-god blushes and then gives her a glare without bite.

Cisco is so unlike the other men Laurel has dated. (Except, maybe, that he shares Tommy Merlyn’s ability to make her _laugh_ , and that’s a pretty great parallel.) But he somehow manages to balance treating Laurel like a goddess with not letting her take herself too seriously, and for that, Sara gives him her own hearty seal of approval.

“So, should we go pick up the Professor?” Cisco asks. “I don’t want to be late; I’m still in the impress the parents phase.”

“I’m sure you’re doing great,” Sara assures him. “Much better than Nyssa.”

“ _What?_ The Professor loves you! Even I know that.”

“Our… first impressions … were a bit rocky,” Nyssa admits, and Sara gives her a playful nudge to remind her that’s behind them and the teasing is in good fun.

“And now Nyssa’s the favorite daughter,” Laurel joins in on the fun. She’s unable to resist the urge to steal the _diablito_ from Cisco, swooping him up and planting a fat kiss on his cheek.

It’s Cisco’s turn to melt, and there’s another check in his favor.

“I am not-“

“You totally are,” Sara interrupts.

“Well, I still wanna pick up Mama Lance on time,” Cisco says, an arm light around Laurel’s waist. Laurel leans into him, ever so slightly. “I think if there’s anything that’s unforgivable to her, it’s keeping her from her grandbaby.”

Yeah, Sara decides. Cisco’s gonna fit in just fine.

 

***

 

Nyssa enters their bedroom after a morning run with Laurel to find Sara and Damian still (rather acrobatically) sleeping in. Damian had still been in the portable crib when Nyssa left, and she wonders whether he had help in the transfer. They are tangled together, Damian’s feet tucked under Sara’s chin, Sara’s arm pinned under his torso. Rocket has joined in on the action, _her_ feet pushing into Damian’s belly. They are a total (adorable) mess. Nyssa lingers in the doorway, watching them.

They truly seem to be enjoying Damian’s first foray to the United States. After their weekend in Central City, they had bundled up for an early season Rockets game yesterday afternoon and returned with an ungodly amount of paraphernalia. (Nyssa had gotten out of that particular excursion by accompanying Laurel to work and inspecting their investment.) She did not know that branded _toothbrushes_ existed, nor that Rockets socks could come in quite so many color, but here they are.

Damian’s hair is a mess, Sara’s not much better. Rocket’s short coat saves her from the indignity of bedhead.

Of all the world-shifting changes this year or so has brought the most surprising and most breathtaking has been the bond between Damian and her Beloved. Her decision had been rash, a knee-jerk of sympathy, saving her nephew from the lonely childhood she had endured. But it had given her something she had not allowed herself to want, a privilege, a luxury, she had thought beyond her reach:

A family. With Sara. A tiny spot of normalcy for the woman who had given up so much for her. A way to keep her own mother’s legacy alive.

And Sara has flourished in the role. Damian adores her, calls for her when she is away serving the League, and finds her to be the single most hilarious thing he has ever encountered (even if sometimes Nyssa does not quite understand the joke).

She should not be surprised by their bond, when she thinks about it. She herself knows well the charms of Taer al-Asfer. No, truly, the _most_ surprising is that Damian also adores _her_. Calls for her in the night, searches her out in the villa, seeks a spot in her lap as she reads in her study. Looks at her with the same love and trust Sara had first shown her all those years ago.

She cannot stand to only look any longer. She crosses to the bed and slips in beside them.

“Ugh, you’re so sweaty,” Sara groans, even as she snuggles in closer to her. Rocket huffs at the intrusion. Damian grunts as they all shift to accommodate her.

“My apologies, habibti.”

“Yeah,” Sara grumbles sleepily. “You better apologize, stinky.”

Nyssa struggles to contain her laughter.

 

***

 

It’s their last morning here, and it came way too quickly for Quentin’s taste. He spent the night at the “Bird’s Nest” the night before so that he could get every last moment of time with them.

He wakes up early these days, and not long after 5:30, Sara stumbles sleepily down the stairs and deposits a wide awake Damian in his arms, mumbling something about “boy time” and disappearing back upstairs. It is possibly Quentin’s greatest joy that Damian does not squawk or object to being abandoned so, and instead immediately grins, reaches for his ears, and babbles something that could definitely be “Grandpa”. Quentin gets teary.

(He’s a sentimental old man, he has to admit, and he _loves_ being a grandpa.)

“How about coffee and the paper?” he asks his grandson.

His babble sounds positive, so he grabs Damian’s coat and stroller, throws on his own jacket, and heads for the closest, _regular_ coffee shop. (None of that fancy crap.) He nods to Sar’ab in the hall, knowing they will have a tail.

At the shop, he orders coffee for himself, milk for Damian, and a muffin for them to split. They grab a window table, and Quentin pulls Damian into his lap so they can read the paper together. He fills Damian in on last night’s baseball scores and discusses the abysmal draft prospects Starling City football has this season. D listens raptly while chewing on blueberry muffin.

“Quentin?”

He looks up from the paper and flushes a little when he recognizes Jenny, a very pretty woman from his AA meetings. Damian leans around the newspaper to get a good look at the newcomer. Quentin has adjust his grip so D doesn’t take a tumble.

“Oh, hi!” Jenny smiles even more brightly.

“Hey, Jenny,” Quentin says, he hopes casually.

“Is this…?”

“My grandson,” Quentin supplies. “Did you, uh, did you want to join us?”

“I’d love to!” She takes a seat in the empty chair across from them. “He’s absolutely precious. What’s his name? How old is he?”

The toddler practically preens under the attention, and Quentin chuckles.

“Damian. He’s eighteen months.”

D says something, but Quentin doesn’t get a word of it.

“My goodness. Hello, young man.” Jenny waves. Damian waves back. She turns her attention back to Quentin. “I didn’t know Laurel had a son.”

“She doesn’t. He’s my younger daughter’s. She and her wife work overseas, so I usually go to see them.”

That’s the cover story he’s been coached in, at least, and he doesn’t find it hard to say. Their marriage license may be a first class Felicity forgery, but he considers Nyssa family. He doesn’t like to think too hard about the truth the cover story hides anyway.

“Oh, how lucky you are that he’s here, then! You know, he kinda looks like you.”

That is literally impossible, but she is sweet to say and he accepts the compliment she intends. (He’s not even sure Damian has any European ancestors, let alone a dozen generations of English laborers, so the power of suggestion must be strong.)

Damian says… something.

“He’s very vocal. Not quite talking yet?”

“English isn’t his first language,” Quentin supplies. “Um, Arabic is. So, I’m gonna be honest that I actually have no idea if he’s talking or not.”

Jenny smiles.

“You have quite the international family, Quentin.”

“Not on purpose. What brings you to this part of town?”

“I live around here, actually. St. Christopher’s is just closer to work. Do you live around here?”

“No, Laurel. I stayed with her last night cause I actually hafta say goodbye to this little guy today.”

“You poor thing.”

They continue to make small talk, and then Jenny’s phone buzzes. Before she leaves, she pulls out a business card and jots her cell phone number on the back. She slides it across the table.

“I’m so glad I ran into you. If you have a problem dating within the group, I totally understand and will see you Monday night. If you don’t? Call me.”

Quentin flushes and says he will, and she takes her leave.

“Well, how ‘bout that?” Quentin looks down at Damian. The grin D gives him almost looks triumphant. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks, buddy. Don’t tell my girls.”

 

***

 

“Did you have a relaxing morning?”

Quentin jumps out of his skin. Nyssa has _got_ to be more noisy. He’s too old for all this sneaking. He plays it cool, though. Damian babbles from his stroller, and Rocket jumps up, her forepaws on Damian’s legs. Damian squeals in delight, and Rocket’s tail is going a mile a minute.

“Yeah. Just two guys grabbing coffee over the morning paper. Damian is excited about voting reform.”

“I’m sure he is,” Nyssa says, and he can’t tell if she’s serious. He’s still learning to read her, and she keeps surprising him.

“So, Sara kicked you out, too, huh?”

“She attempted to cajole Sin into Rocket’s morning walk, but she was unsuccessful.”

“Aren’t _you_ supposed to be _her_ boss?” Quentin asks. He pulls the dainty espresso to-go cup off the paper tray he balances on top of Damian’s stroller and hands it to her. She smiles her gratitude; it’s when she smiles that Quentin completely understands how Sara fell for her.

“In matters of the League, yes. In matters of the home…” Nyssa trails off, the rest of that sentence unnecessary. Quentin knows, everyone knows, how whipped Nyssa is. “In any event, she claims to be packing, but no progress was made before I left.”

Sounds like Sara.

“So you really gotta leave today?”

“We have been away long enough,” Nyssa says, apologetically. “Sara tells me that you plan to come to us in the summer.”

“Yeah, if you’ll have me.”

“Always.”

He gives her a genuine smile of his own.

“This guy’ll be speaking four languages by then.”

“Mm.”

That mm means he already does.

“Well, thanks for coming. It means…” The world. “A lot, to have him here, in my city.”

“To Sara, as well. It is not easy, or safe, for us to come often, but I will continue to do everything in my power to facilitate your relationship.”

“And you have a lot of power.”

“Indeed.”

“Just not in the home.”

Well damn - he just made Nyssa laugh.

 

***

 

The plane is always quiet. It quickly lulls both Damian and Rocket to sleep in no time. They spoon together on a bench. A curtain cuts the cabin in two, giving them some privacy from the other assassins who fly with them. Sara plays solitaire, because Nyssa said she was getting too competitive in Spit.

Sara thinks the Heir to the Demon should be able to handle a few errant slaps.

Sar’ab peeks his head through the curtain to give them an updated ETA. He disappears again when Nyssa thanks him. In Arabic.

The return to an Arabic default warms Sara’s heart, maybe strangely. It’s not her native language, of course. That’s the English they’ve all been speaking for the last ten days, helping increase Damian’s understanding of his American relatives. But Arabic is what she lives in now, and it’s home. And when Nyssa speaks it?

Just beautiful.

“Are you stuck, habibti?”

She’s been caught staring, but she’s not one to blush about it.

“No…”

Nyssa is standing, hovering above her, oh-so-slowly collecting the cards from the table between them. Sara briefly mourns the loss; she was probably going to win that one. But Nyssa soon distracts her from that, folding the table up and taking a very pointed seat straddling her lap.

“So you’re not grumpy about the card game anymore?” Sara asks cheekily, tilting her head back and grinning at Nyssa.

Nyssa rolls her eyes. Sara _loves_ it when Nyssa rolls her eyes. She puts her hands at Nyssa’s hips, anchoring her, lest she get any ideas about returning to her own seat.

“You’re too competitive.”

“ _I’m_ too competitive?” Sara gapes. Nyssa’s hands find her shoulders, play with the ends of her braids. “Pot, kettle, Lady Heir.”

Nyssa sighs.

Sara loves that, too, wonders what it says about her that she finds her beloved’s exasperations with her so damn endearing. Nyssa’s annoyance is always either feigned or fleeting, and that always, somehow, reminds Sara of how very much she is loved.

“How are you feeling?” Nyssa asks.

“Well, you’re in my lap, but the baby’s three feet away, so I gotta say: _conflicted_.”

“Sara…”

“If you wanna talk about _feelings_ , Nyssa, you’ve gotta be more direct.”

“Were your anxieties about this visit proven warranted?”

“No. Everybody was really good at letting us go.”

“Are you happy we went?”

“Yes.”

“Do you wish we’d stayed longer?”

“No,” Sara says firmly, meeting Nyssa’s dark eyes in the low light of the darkened cabin. The reading light is like a halo behind her, and Sara hopes her eyes are conveying how much she _adores_ her. “You’ve gotta stop.”

Nyssa tries to look away, but they’re too close together. Sara brings a hand up to her cheek, keeping her locked in.

“I’m exactly where I belong. I’m always going to choose you. You and Ra’s al Ghul have given me an incredible gift, to keep them in my life, to make them a part of Damian’s, but I would still be here if you didn’t. And your dad knows that, or he wouldn’t allow this. So if your dad can see how much I want to be with _you_ , always, why can’t you?”

Nyssa’s gorgeous eyes are a little wet, and Sara brings her other hand up to cradle her face, too. Nyssa leans her cheek into the second hand.

“Most days, I know that now. But I do often wish that you and Damian could have a more normal life.”

“I don’t,” Sara shakes her head, then pulls Nyssa towards her for a kiss. “And even if I did, I’d only want it with you.”

She kisses her again. Again and again and again, trying to erase the insecurities she knows she had a hand in creating.

“Besides,” she says, forehead pressed to hers. “If you want to get rid of me now, Felicity’s gonna have to forge a divorce decree, and I just don’t think she’s gonna do that.”

Nyssa laughs.

Sara loves it most of all when Nyssa laughs.

 

***

fin


End file.
